


Hippocratic

by Rainah (RainahFiclets)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Witchcraft, stillborn child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainahFiclets/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: Maria Lewis is a midwife accused of witchcraft after one of the Hamilton children is a stillborn. She flees, leaving her daughter with a family friend and living in the mountains. If they want to brand her a witch, then she will become one.
But the things we love have a way of coming back to us





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/gifts).



> *Bangs pots and pans* More Maria centered fic
> 
> This is a gift for [Kris](http://writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle.tumblr.com/tagged/wishlist), who requested it. May your holidays be filled with love, warmth, and all the goodies you make in that fancy fancy mixer.

When the baby slides out of his mother's womb, small and blue and still, Maria's breath stops.

"Is it a boy?" Eliza Hamilton, in the bed, thrashes her head to one side to try and see. "Is it a son? Our son?"

"It-" the words die in her throat. _He is dead._ Dead before he took his first breath of air. "It is a boy. But ma'am-"

Eliza can hear the sudden fear in her voice. "What is it? What's wrong with my son?"

"He- he-" Maria swallows, and shifts so Eliza can see the bundle in her arms. Eliza's answering scream of horror is loud enough to be heard outside.

"Eliza!" The door tears open and there is Alexander Hamilton, come to his wife's rescue. He had been waiting outside, to preserve Mrs. Hamilton's modesty, but Maria had seen the way he paced and knows how anxious he is for his wife and their child. Now that child is dead, and on her watch.

What could she have done? More valerian? A brew of ergot? Her mother had taught her to be a midwife, but her mother had also told her that despite her best efforts some babies will die. It is Eve's curse, her mother explained, and women must manage it the best they can. That was why midwives should be women, to better understand the process. Only women were touched by life and death this way.

Hamilton stares at her, for a long unblinking moment. "How," he says, and stops. " _Why_?" He thinks she did this on purpose.

There are tears on his cheeks, and Eliza is still letting out little screams and moans of pain. They will not listen to reason right now, she knows. She doesn’t know if she can be reasonable herself - not looking down at the withered child in her arms. She meets his grief-stricken gaze, and all she can think to say is, "I don't know." 

She feels numb, and cold, as if she were underwater. Why did some babies die and some live? She had delivered babies upside down or wrapped in their cords with success, but now such a simple birth was a failure. What made that final difference?

"Give him to me," Hamilton orders. She doesn't move, so he lurches forward and grabs the bundle from her arms. "Get out of my house." She's frozen, looking up at him with a wide-eyed stare. "Get out!" He moves so quickly she thinks he means to hit her, and flinches back. It's just a shooing motion. 

Still she runs, terrified and trembling, back home. Locks the door and then slides down the the floor, trying to get her breathing under control. _Breathe_. 

"Mamma?" a small voice asks. Since James left years ago, it's only been her and Susan in the house. It's alright; they make do. Maria's work brings in enough money for a small house and their daily necessities.

"Susan." Maria pulls the small girl to her chest. She’s only four, but Susan is bright and happy. Maria's been stockpiling money with the idea to eventually hire a tutor for her. Susan could have a better life, the kind of life educated ladies like Mrs. Hamilton have. "Oh baby," Maria says, stroking her daughter's soft hair. "Mamma's had a terrible, terrible day."

"S'okay, Mamma." Susan pats her on the arm, the same gesture Maria uses to sooth the girl's nightmares. "We're here."

"And that makes it okay," Maria smiles weakly. "Good girl. Now, let's see about making you something for dinner."

But it's not okay. Word comes later that week from Mr. Burr: Hamilton is branding her a witch, claiming that she murdered his son.

"It’s idle talk," Burr says, sipping tea in her tiny living room. "Hamilton can bluster all he wants, but everyone knows he's just gone mad with grief for the boy." 

She feels a pang of guilt, thinking back to how Hamilton had come charging in when he heard his wife scream. He was obviously a man who cared about his family very much. She can't imagine the pain of losing a child. "I will pray for his health, sir."

"Will you? A man who slanders you?" He raised a single eyebrow. "I am impressed at your character, Ms. Lewis."

They spend the rest of the evening making light conversation, ignoring the elephant in the room. But on the way out Burr hesitated before saying, "Ms. Lewis, if there is anything you or your daughter needs please do not hesitate to call on me."

"Thank you, sir."

"I mean it," he says, and she sees the seriousness in his eyes. "After what you did, saving my Theodosia... I am always at your service."

She doesn't know what to say to that, besides lowering her eyes and saying, "thank you, sir, I'll remember."

Weeks pass, and the rumours grow worse. They say she is a witch, a sorceress, an evil sprite who has cursed the Hamilton family because she wants their patriarch for her own. Women cross the street to avoid her. Men hiss epithets as they pass. One spits on her.

She has to do something about it. A midwife cannot work in these conditions. They say Mrs. Hamilton has been bedridden since her stillborn son. She sees no one but her doctors and her family. But Hamilton... surely he will put these rumours to rest. He will know she never meant to harm, only to help.

She doesn't dare visit his home. Instead, she waits outside his office, grabbing his sleeve as he walks by. "Sir!"

He turns, shocked. "What do _you_ want."

"Please," She has not planned on begging. But if that is what it takes... "I know you are a man of honour, sir. I've nowhere else to go. You must tell them that these rumours are false. Sir," she meets his eyes, pleading, desperate, "I'm scared for my daughter."

He slams his palms against the wall on each side of her head, caging her in. Alexander Hamilton is not large, but then neither is she. And there is strength in those arms, in the hands that clench around nothing. "You deny then," he says, breath hot in her face, "that you murdered my son?"

"I- sir, I am a _midwife_ , I work to _save_ lives-"

"You are a witch," he spits out. "A demon sorceress trying to hoodwink me away from my wife. I will not fall for you, you-"

His eyes have dropped to the tops of her breasts, poking out of a too-small bodice. _So there is, at least, a kernel of truth to the suggestion that we are involved. He wishes we were._ It makes her angry. "Your affections are your own fault," she snaps. "I have not invented them nor encouraged them. Let me go."

When he does not move, she brings up a forearm to push him away. 

"If you know what is good for you," Hamilton says savagely. "You will leave this town and never plague its residents again."

"Nor help through their labours, or talk them through their pains, or give them shelter when their husbands beat them," Maria spits back. "If you want me to be a witch? I will. I curse every one of you."

Hamilton does not flinch. She does not expect him to, that would mean he truly believed the stories instead of simply looking for someone to blame for his grief. 

She walks home alone, thinking hard.

She will have to leave, that much is clear. Hamilton is a powerful man, and they will believe him over her. But there are hills and mountains to the south of Manhattan that will offer her a chance to start over. To build a new life, even if it is as this cursed creature the world has branded her. _A witch, yes, I can be a witch. Mayhaps I’ll even live in a cave and eat bats._

The hardest part is Susan. Her daughter is delicate, not built for travel into the mountains. She would die, and Maria would die with her. “I love you, Mamma,” Susan says when Maria holds her tight.

“I know baby, I love you too. I will keep you safe.”

Still, every step towards Burr's house is an agony. Every heartbeat she wants to turn back. But Susan's hand in in hers, warm and sure, and she will do this for her daughter. "Mr Burr, sir."

"Ms. Lewis. Please come in. And Susan." He smiles at her daughter, friendly, and calls for his own Theodosias to come and take her. "I trust this is not a social visit."

"It is not," Maria confesses. "I am in grave need of help." Slowly, hesitantly, she lays out her plan. Burr accepts every word, nodding reassuringly.

"Please, sir," she will not cry. She did not cry for Hamilton, she will not cry for Burr, "my daughter is innocent of any wrongdoing. I cannot take her with me, her health is delicate."

Burr takes her hand in both of his. "She will always have a place in my home."

"Theo needs a companion regardless," his wife says from the doorway, handing her a cup of tea. "It will be good for her to have a young one around, as we've no other children."

Maria thanks them both, over and over. Then she kisses Susan on the head and explains that she is going to stay with the Burrs now, as her mother was going on a long journey. And if she shed a tear, head buried in her daughter's hair, no one needed to know.

"When will you be back, Mamma?" Susan wants to know.

"I don't know. But I will see you again one day," she vows.

Outside her daughter's new home, she hesitates. If only she were truly a witch! A spell of protection would do a lot to help them. Well, one must make do.

Dipping her finger in the mud beside the lane, Maria paints a small cross on the door. "Oh Lord in heaven, hear my prayer. Give my daughter sanctuary of body and mind until I can watch over her again. Allow her to grow up peaceful, happy, and well. And forgive me for all I have done."

And then, drawing her cloak tighter around her, she vanishes into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was not, in fact, up by new years. Blame my brain for going on vacation for like a month.

Years pass.

Slowly, painfully, Maria learns how to live in her new home. She makes a small shelter against the walls of a cliff; then she makes a better one, quickly learning that a shelter where one sleeps on the ground is open to all kinds of insects.

She eats berries, at first, and the plants she knows to be edible. She practices weaving sticks into various shapes, and finally manages to snare a rabbit. She washes in the stream, cooks over an open flame, and secures her little shelter against storms. 

_I'll be a witch_ , she thinks, staring at the flames. But it's easier said than done - it's not as though they teach witchcraft at sunday school.

Still, she goes by what she knows. One night she strips off her clothing, standing in the moonlight, and tries a chant. It feels awkward, and cold, and the uneven ground cuts her bare feet when she attempts to dance. She puts her clothes back on and tries not to feel too despondent. 

Her broths could be considered potions, she supposes. She does make them with every part of the animal, wasting as little as possible. And maybe her prayers could be considered spells.

But it's not until she has her first visitor that Maria really feels like a witch.

"I heard there was a lady who lived on the mountain," the man said, standing before her. He's bashful, just a little bit nervous.

Maria touches him on the arm. "What do you need?"

"My wife is sick, weak and fevered. Down in the city they said you could help, that you had helped such things before..." his voice trails off.

Her eyes narrow. "And what else did they say down in the city?"

He swallows. "That you are a witch. That your touch may favour a man, make him well, or kill him where he stands." He drops to his knees. "I am prepared to risk such a thing, for a chance to save my wife."

Entirely unprecedented. She doesn't know quite what to do with him. "Come and sit by my fire," Maria says finally. "Tell me your name, and every detail of your wife's condition."

And so she finds a new purpose in life. The sick and wounded seek her out, those who are often considered beyond saving. She sits with them, does her best. Sometimes it works, and they return home with tales of the powerful witch that saved their leg and head and soul. Sometimes it doesn't, and she can do nothing but sit with them as they die. 

Anything she can do, she does. And sometimes it's not even her medicines they need.

A man comes to her, forlorn. "I am cursed," he spits, kneeling at her fire. "Cursed, unnatural, sinful-"

"If you want to be free of sin, see a preacher," she tells him flatly.

"I do not." He bows his head. "God help me, I do not. I want... to be free of _wanting_ to sin."

"What sins are these?" Maria tilts his head up, studying his face.

"Men." He whispers, and she understands. "I desire men, not women. I cannot take a wife, and instead took a lover."

She drops his head. His chin almost hits his chest before it snaps up, watching her in fear.

"Now," She says frankly, "Answer me this: do you amuse yourself with men who are not so inclined? Do you order them, force them?"

"No!" He looks sick.

"Do you hurt them? Blackmail them? Humiliate them by telling their secrets?"

"I would never."

She _tsks_ her tongue. "You came to see a witch, not a priest, so absolution is not what you desire. Come, share my fire and we will see to your difficulties. Tell me about this man you took as a lover."

The man sits, looking vaguely perturbed, but a small smile steals across his face as he says, "You could not imagine a man so handsome, so noble. His eyes are so deep a man feels to drown in them, his character..."

Over several days Maria houses the man, whom she learns is named Benjamin. So used to living alone as she is, she encourages him to fill the silences between them. And fill them he does. He speaks slowly at first, but as he falls into the safety of her camp he speaks more and more. He speaks of his childhood, of his family, of growing up to learn he preferred the company of men...

She gives him no potions, no spells, no magic. But after three days of talking freely he kneels again and thanks her. 

"Go," she tells him fondly. "Go find your lover. Be happy with the life you have, rather than the life you should have had." Advice she's taken to heart many times over the years.

Healing comes about in all sorts of ways, after all. He leaves and she is alone again, until the next person to seek her out. It’s a meager existence, but she supposes it is better than nothing.

It’s a dark winter when the girl comes to her. Maria is all settled in - her shelter’s roof secure against the snow, firewood piled where it will stay dry. She has a hound now, a gift from someone who sought her help. It means that even during the quiet winter months she’s never alone.

Still, when the dog begins to howl she looks up in surprise. Not many are willing to traverse the snow and rock to get to her little refuge in winter. “Who comes?”

“Someone who begs for your help,” the voice answers, high and clear and unafraid.

It’s a girl. A _young_ girl, maybe fourteen, with corkscrew curls tan skin. She stands tall and proud, arms spread, and Maria’s breath catches in her throat. 

“What is your name?” She asks, because she has to be sure. _It can’t be,_ her mind whispers, insisting that the loneliness and the rough magic she’s hewn out of the mountainside have finally driven her mad. 

“Susan,” the girl says. It’s like a gunshot to her heart.

She can just barely make herself say, “join my fire and be welcome,” before collapsing onto a log by the fire herself. Susan, come back to her at last. Does the girl know? Surely not. It was so many years ago that Maria gave her up, and Maria is not the same woman who hugged her close and brushed away her nightmares. All the softness of her dresses, her skin, her wide lap, have been worn away. No, Susan doesn’t recognize her. Why would she? Maria hardly recognizes herself.

“I come seeking your help,” Susan says, even as she kneels by the fire.

Maria’s throat is dry. “Whatever I have is yours.” 

“Not for me,” the girl shakes her head. “For my father.” Maria has just enough time to jerk her head up, thinking _James?!_ and ready to come storming down the mountain, before Susan corrects herself. “My foster father, the man who raised me. I have heard you can heal with your magic… heal afflictions of the mind, as well as the body.”

“Such things are difficult, but not impossible,” Maria replies woodenly. She’s still not over the shock of this, of Susan, of everything that is happening to her little world. “Tell me of the trouble.”

“My father dueled a man to the death,” Susan began, “a man who had insulted him time and time again. He triumphed, the man died, but my father is overcome with strange emotions. He laughs about it one day, and the next he cries.”

_Aaron_. Aaron Burr, duel someone to the death? She can hardly believe it. “Who?”

“Well,” Susan hesitates, and in that second Maria _knows_. “The former treasury secretary, Alexander Hamilton.”

It’s far, far too much to process for one night. She can’t- she’ll think about it tomorrow. Everything will keep till then. “Stay the night,” she says, “and tomorrow we will talk about your foster father.”

They sleep side by side in Maria’s shelter. Maria doesn’t dare reach out to touch her, despite the cold, and those four inches of bare ground between them might very well have been miles.

The next day she makes a bitter tea for breakfast. “Tell me about your foster father,” she says, for she has to _know_. Has to know Susan has been well cared for, loved, looked after. That her hard choices have not been in vain. “Is he a good man? A kind man?”

“He is a good man,” Susan says, trying not to wince as she sips her tea. The pine needles are an acquired taste, but it is one hot thing to drink in the wintertime. “An awkward man, but kind in his way. He’s proud though, and it was pride that drew him into a duel. He couldn’t stand to be humiliated over and over. Theodosia was furious.”

“Which one?” Maria asks, remembering their daughter was also named Theodosia. 

Susan looks at her quizzically for a moment, then huffs out a laugh. “Both.” 

“And how,” Maria asks, trying so hard to be delicate, “did you end up fostered?”

“I don’t remember my father,” Susan says, looking down at the fire. “He left us, I think, when I was small. But my mother…” heedless of the emotions churning Maria’s face she continued. “I remember her. I remember the softness, the smell of her hair. She was a midwife of some skill in my town, I’ve been told, but… I don’t know where she went or why. Or why she left me.”

Maria stares. The tears are pouring down her cheeks, freezing in the winter air. She feels frozen, balanced on a perfect moment where her daughter remembers her love. Moving would only break the spell.

Susan finally turns. “Ma’am?” She breaths, face illuminated by the firelight.

“She loved you very much.” Maria says thickly. God, the tears are blurring her throat and she can hardly talk. “Too much to drag you into the wilderness when she was driven away for a mistake.”

Susan’s mouth hangs open for just a moment. “Mom?”

And then for the first time in a decade Maria is able to pull her daughter close and whisper sweet nothings into her hair. It’s so different - their bodies don’t fit together very well, and there’s an awkward reshuffle to allow them to hug properly - but with her daughter in her arms Maria feels like crying out to the heavens.

Healing comes in all sorts of ways, after all. 

Three days later mother and daughter descend from the mountain, a hound at their heels. People whisper of it for years to come. How Susan Lewis brought a woods witch to see her father.

It must have been powerful magic, they say, that went on behind the closed doors. For after several hours with the Burrs, the woods witch left again - this time with Susan by her side. Aaron Burr returned to work, confident in his place in the world, and neither Susan nor the witch were heard from again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is [here](thellamaduo.tumblr.com)
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are loved

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping to have part two up by new years.
> 
> You can find me on [here](http://www.thellamaduo.tumblr.com), where I love to chat


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